Pieces
by dazzledlovely
Summary: After Near is chosen to succeed L, Mello's life is in shambles. However, a meeting with a mysterious redhead changes everything. Matt/Mello, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** I've kind of been planning this one, actually. Right now, I only have a vague idea of the plot, but worry not! I shall come up with more details and an interesting twist as the story goes on. Anyway, I'll try to keep the characters as in-character as possible. TITLE MAY CHANGE.

**Warnings:** Yaoi. Boy/boy. Awful writing skills.

**Summary: **After Near is chosen to succeed L, Mello's life is in shambles. However, a meeting with a mysterious redhead changes everything. MxM, AU.

* * *

_Prologue-_

One would wonder about the reason for another person to be stumbling drunkenly through a dark alleyway at three in the morning on a Wednesday.

However, one would wonder even more about the reason for another person to be stumbling drunkenly through a dark alleyway at three in the morning on a Wednesday while clothed in nothing but a pair of black boxers.

Let it be noted that it was exactly 24 degrees outside. Fahrenheit.

It could be assumed that the person had been perhaps robbed of all their clothing and had their valuables stolen. It could also be assumed that the person had lost their clothing after coming out badly in a bet, or after gambling. Yet, when the person was frantically attempting to remove their last article of clothing (the boxers), and failing miserably while cursing loudly and waving around a bottle of vodka, it was quite easy to tell that the person was simply very, very drunk.

So drunk, in fact, that the person seemed to believe that his underwear was actually a dead cat clinging stubbornly to his crotch. And that the remainder of his leather (and probably expensive) clothing had attempted to murder him, and therefore had to be executed immediately.

The above being the explanation as to why tatters of leather were scattered around on the ground and why the person was only wearing a pair of boxers, one would still be lacking the explanation of why the person was stumbling drunkenly through a dark alleyway at three in the morning on a Wednesday. Not that one would particularly care.

In any case, the explanation is, yet again, simple.

The life of the said person was in as many pieces as his clothing.

-:-

Mello eyed the piece of cloth clinging to his legs with a beady stare.

And it stared back.

Mello was never one to refuse a challenge. With an almighty battle cry (after which he proceeded to take another swig of vodka), the twenty-two-year-old man clawed at his boxers with a fury from hell.

His boxers remained, infuriatingly so, intact, prompting the thirteenth staring contest in the past ten minutes.

Mello's eyes began to water, and somewhere at the back of his muddled mind, common sense struggled up from the black depths of alcohol influence and informed him that his boxers were never going to blink. Ever. So Mello gave up and sat down. Let it be understood that he didn't sit down _because_ he gave up- he sat down because now his boxers would be forced to suffer the horror of being squished between his ass and the ground. Ha, take that, stupid underwear.

And then it was decided that Mello was bored. The ultimate cure for boredom when one was exceedingly drunk was drinking more vodka and/or braiding hair. Fortunately, his hair brushed the tips of his shoulders, making this whole braiding process potentially easier. Unfortunately, however, Mello was far too intoxicated to understand that drinking vodka and braiding hair could not be done at the same time. Because drinking vodka required one hand, and braiding required two hands. Mello did not have three hands.

That was how he was found with a hand and a foot tangled in the mess of his blonde hair (and a bottle of vodka clutched firmly in his other hand), in a dark alley at three in the morning on a Wednesday by a couple of men in black suits. These men in black suits, like most men in black suits, worked for a quite important someone.

That quite important someone was Mello's arch rival.

Hissing obscene words, Mello attempted rip his hand and foot free from his head, and ended up taking a chunk of hair with it. He clamped a palm to his now burning scalp, hugging his alcohol for comfort. But the men in the black suits had already decided to grab Mello by the arms and forcefully drag him to their black car with the black windows. And Mello tried to struggle, he really did, but there was only so much one could do when drunk enough for twelve people.

His life. Sucked. Ass.

-:-

"I would like to know what Mello was thinking."

"I was _drunk_, asshole."

"Exactly. I would like to know what Mello was thinking when he decided it would be a good idea to consume that much alcohol in one sitting."

"Can we talk about this some other time-" Mello broke off and leaned over the toilet as his body continued to purge all that vodka. _All that vodka_. What a waste.

"No, we cannot talk about this some other time. Mello will tell me right now."

"I'm throwing up!"

"Yes, I can see that."

Mello shot a glare over the toilet lid at the albino boy sitting comfortably on the sink counter. "Near, just go die- blaarrrgh..."

Near wrinkled his nose in disgust as Mello retched for what felt like the fiftieth time. The blonde lifted his head and attempted, once again, to turn the white-haired boy to dust using his mind. Near chose not to grace him with a response and instead opted to twirl a lock of hair around his finger in silence. Twirl, twirl, twirl. Mello's right eye twitched exactly two times.

"If it's so disgusting, you can leave!"

"I did not say that it was disgusting."

"You don't find me barfing repeatedly into a toilet disgusting? You sicko."

Near heaved a great sigh, rather like a sigh one's parents would let out when completely and totally exasperated with their child. He shut his eyes and counted to ten. Mello threw up again. He counted to twenty.

"I am leaving," he declared imperiously. "When Mello finishes in here, he will please come outside and meet me. I believe that there are a few things to be discussed."

Mello simply groaned in response and rested his head upon the toilet seat, following Near's bare feet out the door with weary blue eyes. His eyes raked along his own body, pausing when they registered that he was still clad in nothing but his underwear. How embarrassing.

Mello reached up and flushed the toilet and rolled onto the comfortingly cold floor. His eyelids were heavy, starting to slip shut out of their own will. He vaguely though about Near- about how he was waiting outside, about how he expected Mello to cooperate and 'talk' afterward. The blonde cradled his head with an arm that was as heavy as his eyes. So, so tired. He was just so tired of everything. Mello decided to leave Near to go fuck himself and shut his eyes all the way, instantly giving in to much-needed, deep slumber.

"Mello is not allowed to sleep."

_Ah, nuts._

-:-

It was safe to assume that Mello was upset. But, then again, anyone would have been upset after suffering through what Mello had just had the misfortune of suffering through- A lecture delivered personally by Near himself. Hallelujah. Mello chewed fiercely on his lower lip as he exited the NPA headquarters and yes, he knew fully well that blood had begun to drip down his chin. However, he just didn't care, as he was far too busy seething over his own humiliation. Not to say that the humiliation wasn't well deserved.

"I am very disappointed in Mello," Near had said.

"Oh, guess what? I don't fucking care."

"Mello's recent behavior has been extremely irresponsible."

Mello shifted uncomfortably in his chair across from the albino, more than well aware that he was still clad only in his underwear. "I don't want to hear that from someone four years younger than me." A pause. "Can I get some clothes?"

Near exhaled slowly through his nose and this time only reached five before Mello's voice snapped his concentration into little pieces.

"It gets kind of cold when you're half naked, you know." Another pause. "You know what? I bet you don't know. I bet you never get naked- even to shower."

Near waved his hand impatiently at the man in the black suit who stood stoically by the door. It took all his self control and more to prevent his eye from twitching. The man (fortunately) picked up the hint and left to fetch Mello's much-demanded clothing.

Turning back to the blonde, Near then narrowed his eyes a fraction- a rare and almost disconcerting display of emotion.

"If Mello is four years older than me, then why is it that my judgment is far more rational than his? Perhaps this is the very reason that Mello was not chosen to replace L."

...

And then everything was silent.

And that was quite understandable (for everything to be silent, that is), because the words that had just left Near's mouth were absolutely and completely taboo.

Mello's right eye twitched. He shoved aside his chair with enough force to knock it to the ground. And then he stood up and left, just like that. Near watched impassively as Mello stalked toward the door, snatching the pair of pants and the shirt that the man in the black suit had just arrived with. He didn't say a word. He simply left and did not look back.

And that was how Mello was left to walk (yes, walk) several painfully long miles in order to reach his apartment. He wiped away the blood with a crisp, white sleeve and he hoped that it would leave a permanent stain.

It was only just beginning to grow light outside, the navy sky tinged with traces of pink and orange and clouds of light blue. Wind blew from every direction, tossing Mello's hair into a hideous disarray, which he quickly proceeded to smooth down only to have it swept the other way. He then let out a long-suffering sigh as a drop of water landed on his nose. Rain. Fucking perfect. But even as the sky poured on his head, he kept walking.

And maybe, if he had been paying attention, he would have noticed the sharp gaze that followed his every move.

-:-

"What do you _mean_, I'm kicked off the fucking case?"

"Mello understands perfectly well what I mean."

"That's not fucking fair! You can't do that, you pompous asshole!"

"Mello will refrain from shouting-"

"MELLO WILL NOT REFRAIN FROM SHOUTING." The blonde calmly threw a lamp across his living room.

A sigh that sounded very suspiciously like "oh my god" was heard on the other line. Mello hissed.

"You put me back on the damn case _right now_."

"No."

Mello blinked. "What?"

"No." And then he hung up.

Mello screamed in rage and chucked his phone at the opposite wall, shattering its screen and knocking out the battery. "That _stupid_ little son of a bitch! Who the hell does he think he is, acting all high and mighty-" His heated venting was cut short when he heard a tiny 'ping' from his laptop.

The blonde rushed toward his desk, ignoring the stack of books he knocked over in the process. "What the..." His eyes widened in horrified realization. "Fuck!"

Near was locking him out of the case files.

Mello searched almost frantically for his phone before remembering that it was broken and cursing himself. And then cursing Near. He searched through a pile of papers and rubbish and god-only-knows what else on the desk, giving a shout of victory as his hand closed around his spare phone. He had Near on speed-dail, which was something he would normally be ashamed to admit, but was grateful for in this situation. Pressing the number "2" with conviction, Mello waited impatiently for the albino to pick up.

"Yes?"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"I am locking Mello out of the case files, obviously."

"What-"

"Mello has been removed from the investigation due to extreme irresponsibility," Near said. "He has been too reckless and has put everyone at risk including himself. Also, he has been drinking, which usually means that he is under stress. Mello clearly cannot cope with this. It is beneficial to the case to have Mello removed."

Mello's grip on the phone tightened, leaving his knuckles white. "Near," he said in a voice that was barely audible. "You can't do this."

"But I already have. Mello will stop calling me now. Goodbye." And then there was a click followed by a dial tone.

The phone slipped out of Mello's hand. He slumped against the wall and laid his head on his knees.

_Fuck. Just fuck._

Mello hated being dependent. But at the moment, that was exactly what he was- completely dependent on the younger boy whom he so loathed. Mello just loathed his whole situation, actually.

One might wonder what exactly had fucked up Mello's life so badly. The explanation was simple.

Near had been chosen to succeed L.

L had not retired yet- no, he still held the respectable position of the world's greatest detective. He did, however, after having his life put in danger, feel the need to appoint a successor in the case of his death. Out of an entire orphanage of geniuses, Mello and Near were the top two. But Near was number one. He was always number one. It was no surprise as to who was chosen. Still, Mello couldn't help but to feel betrayed and angry. It was only the natural thing to feel when one had spent their entire life working toward something, only to be shoved aside so another could take their place. Mello could still remember the day that L had personally summoned them both to tell them the news.

That was the day that Mello's life went to hell.

The blonde had left Wammy's the very next morning and bought a place of his own using the considerable sum of money left to L's potential successors.

And that was how he was left with his apartment and a rent to pay with no way to earn any income. There was only one other solution available, and that was to work under Near. It was a knee to the groin to his pride, but he was broke and had several debts to pay. So that was how he ended up working under his former arch rival. It wasn't even a permanent position; Mello was only called over to help out on difficult cases. To do the dirty work. Mello suspected that Near simply pitied him.

And he despised every second of it.

So he had to retaliate in his own way, and that was to attempt to beat Near at his own game. Mello, so far, had not actually succeeded in solving any of the cases before Near did, which was rather putting-off. However, this new case that had popped up out of seemingly nowhere- it was the perfect opportunity. Solving it would be nearly impossible, and Mello knew that the albino needed him. Without Mello and his underground connections, they didn't stand a chance, and the blonde was more than willing to take advantage of the situation. There it was. His chance to beat the one person that had bested him for so many years.

And he had let it slip away. Which led to other problems.

Mello was now almost certain that he would get evicted from his little apartment. So far, he had broken every single rule- no pets, no loud music, and even the no smoking policy. In actuality, Mello despised smokers. He had never understood the point of inhaling acrid-smelling fumes only to get lung cancer afterward. But he had done it just to spite the landlord, and how revenge was sweet. One might wonder what exactly Mello had taken revenge for. It was simple- the landlord had told him that his goldfish smelled. And it really did, but Mello didn't want to hear it. It was like telling someone that their child was ugly. He also chose to conveniently ignore the no pet policy in favor of getting pissed off.

Which was exactly how he felt at the moment. Pissed off at the world. And a little bit hopeless.

So he decided to do something about it.

Mello pushed himself up off the floor and grabbed his laptop and a chocolate bar, heading toward the couch. There he sat down once more and set to work hacking his way back into the case files. Because hell if Near was going to stop him.

-:-

Two hours and ten jumbo-sized bars of chocolate later, Mello was in.

Near, unsurprisingly, had put up layers and layers of protection that barred Mello from entering the file. Those layers and layers were actually blocking even more layers and layers that safeguarded the case files.

But Mello was in.

The albino had clearly underestimated the blonde's hacking skills. Though Mello quite frankly sucked at most things computer-related a few years ago, he was most certainly well acquainted with the basics of hacking now. Unfortunately, the basics weren't enough to hack into anywhere, so Mello used his history with the mafia to his advantage and got a few lessons on how to do the 'real stuff'. He did feel a bit guilty about going behind the backs of his colleagues and doing exactly what he had promised not to do, (i.e., using the mafia to fulfill his own selfish wants), but he had gotten over it in good time. Good time meaning a few seconds, of course.

Mello snapped off another piece of chocolate with his teeth, chewing victoriously as he browsed through the information that he hadn't been allowed to look at before.

The Kira Case, in Mello's opinion, was an extremely interesting one.

The origin of the affair had started around nine months ago, tracing back to a tiny, filthy club in a street corner. The tiny, filthy club was _not_ in fact run by an equally tiny, filthy owner. It was, in actuality, the property of the largest chain of underground illegal businesses that there was. And all of it was owned and run by one man- Kira. Of course, 'Kira' couldn't possibly be his name; they had no way of knowing it, since he had more than enough power and money to completely erase himself. It was his alias- his way of being known worldwide, yet anonymous. Almost like L, Mello had thought. But more than L. He was like a God.

But that wasn't the reason that the Kira case was interesting. After all, it could have been anyone that was literally at_ the _top of the criminal world.

The reason that the Kira case was interesting was because Kira had somehow managed to kill- using only heart attacks.

At first, they had suspected that some kind of poison was used, but there were no marks found on the bodies suggesting that any of them had been injected with anything, nor was any type of poison detected in their systems. Not only that, but each victim had been in fairly good health, and overall unlikely to get a heart attack.

And Mello was baffled, but that wasn't a bad thing. It was wonderful. It was something impossible to find out, impossible to solve- the mystery of Kira and his heart attacks. He'd like to see Near figure _that_ one out in just a week. It gave him the perfect opportunity to try and solve it before the albino did, earning himself a victory and proving himself to the world.

**_Too bad you got kicked off._**

Mello growled at the snide little voice occupying his brain and tore more viciously into the bar of chocolate. _You're not helping._

**_It isn't my fault that you're crazy._**

_I'm not crazy!_

**_You're most certainly crazy, amigo. You've got a voice in your head. _**

It was then that Mello decided that having a conversation with his mind was probably unhealthy. So he stopped. Instead, he browsed through the case files, giving a small 'ha!' of triumph when he found the address to the dingy little club that was previously mentioned. It was time to do some investigation of his own.

He was going drinking again.

* * *

**A/N:** Well. I know that this doesn't have Matt in it yet and it's also a bit depressing, but it'll get better as it goes on. Also, it isn't very long, but hey, it's only the first chapter. And it's kinda like a prologue. It's introducing all the background information and giving a little bit of insight about what's to come.

By the way, anyone notice that Mello has Near as "2" on speed dial? That's his pathetic little way of making himself feel better. D'aaaw :)

Review?

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	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note -A Talk of Semes and Ukes:** Righto. So here's chapter two. The thing is, I've been thinking hard about who to make uke and who to make seme. Obviously, Mello is older, and has the rapist personality, therefore automatically making him the seme. Matt is passive and has the kind of "Meh I don't even care" attitude, but is also kind of evil. So he could be seme and he could still be the uke. The thing with this pairing is that I believe their roles can be switched around. And... based on the direction that this story is heading in, I'm going to have to go with making Matt the seme. Sorry guys. The thing is, Mello's personality doesn't change just because he's on bottom when they have sex. He's still going to be the bat-shit insane rapist that we all know and love, just that he's on bottom now. That's all. If you want to see what I mean, go look at the one-shot I wrote on this account. (PR0N WARNING xD)

Also, I know it's been like, a month since I've updated. Sorry, but I have a life and finals are coming up. So... Yeah. Stupid life. Stupid finals.

**Warnings:** Yaoi. Boy/Boy. Don't like, don't read.

**Summary: **After Near is chosen to succeed L, Mello's life is in shambles. However, a meeting with a mysterious redhead changes everything. MxM, AU.

* * *

_It was then that Mello decided that having a conversation with his mind was probably unhealthy. So he stopped. Instead, he browsed through the case files, giving a small 'ha!' of triumph when he found the address to the dingy little club that was previously mentioned. It was time to do some investigation of his own._

_He was going drinking again._

_Chapter 1-_

The club was, frankly, not as shitty as he had expected.

No, Mello thought idly as he strolled up to the grand entrance, it wasn't shitty at all. And it most certainly wasn't what he had had in mind. When he had read about the supposedly "tiny" drinking establishment nine months ago, he had expected it to be just that- a tiny drinking establishment.

However, even reaching the doors posed to be a problem for the blonde with the sheer number of people attempting to get in before him. Mello (normally) would have impatiently elbowed his way through the crowd if it weren't for the what seemed like millions of other elbows in his way. He grimaced in pain and shifted to the side as one caught him in the ribs. Well, he _tried_ to shift to the side, but was instead met with another wave of people. He stumbled, cursing, into the wall beside him and proceeded to be squashed against it by two busty women, both of whom were probably completely wasted already. He shoved them aside and managed to squeeze his way through to the front. For once, he was rather glad that he was skinny.

"Jesus fucking Christ," He mumbled in irritation, pulling out his ID and flashing it at the man at the door. The man gave him a short nod and moved aside, allowing Mello entrance.

Mello let out a soft hiss and shielded his eyes at the flashing blue lights at the center of the club that illuminated yet another throng of bodies, but this time they twisted and swayed to dance music blaring from the speakers. His eyes moved past the writhing crowd, past the tables littered in the corner with the poor lighting and onto the bar.

The bar.

Fucking yes.

Except there was the small problem of the dance floor in the way. He clenched his teeth, mentally steeling himself, and entered the chaos. Luckily, everyone's elbows were in the air this time, saving him the agony of being jabbed in the face. After what seemed like an eternity of sidestepping flailing arms and avoiding drunk women all of whom seemed to want to latch onto him, he finally made it to the bar.

Once more: The bar.

Hallelujah.

Mello felt some of the previous tension seep away as he sipped a beer. Mmm. Beer. To Mello, it tasted quite horrible, but thankfully numbed his senses enough for him to feel blissfully happy- like he was floating. A feeling that was so wonderfully contrary to his usual disposition, especially after the nightmare of a day that he had had so far. He smacked his lips and rested his cheek on his palm, idly observing the other inhabitants of the club.

There were those that were jumping up and down to the music- Mello wasn't so bothered about them. Most likely they were only at the club to dance like animals and then get laid. They weren't worth paying attention to. Then there were those beside him, drowning their sorrows in alcohol. Mello didn't concern himself with them either, choosing to conveniently forget that he was one of them just last night. His gaze instead shifted past the numerous tables seating happily chatting couples and to the back corner. Two men in black suits stood conversing by a door which Mello assumed to be the back entrance. One of them, wearing sunglasses, Mello noted, scowled at the other and pushed the door open, revealing a set of stairs that led below.

Huh.

Mello had to admit that he hadn't thought of the possibility of another floor. Then again, he hadn't counted on the club to be as enormous as it was either. Hell, he had counted on it being a complete shithole. And a place being a complete shithole completely ruled out having a lower floor. But the staircase was exactly what Mello had been looking for. It would be incredibly easy to reach, Mello thought, especially since the other man in the suit had followed the first down the stairs.

He slapped a tip on the counter and slipped out of his seat, trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself. Unfortunately for Mello, nothing really ever went the way he wanted it to go.

It was only his luck that he bumped into a large, burly man who immediately whipped around and grabbed the (much smaller) blonde by the collar. "Watch where you're fuckin' goin', dumbass!"

Mello snarled at him, trying to free himself from the man's iron grip.

"Oi, fuckin' apologize!"

And at this point, let it be noted that Mello was never one to let the word "sorry" slip out of his mouth very easily, nor was he one to back down without a fight.

So a fight there was.

Before he knew it, Mello found himself both dealing and dodging blows, yet only thinking about the staircase and how much fucking trouble he was going to be in when Near found out about his attempts at investigating. He supposed that he would have to go into hiding or something- he ducked as the man swung a fist- before Near and his henchmen, as Mello dubbed them, could lay a hand on him. He yelped and attempted to dodge to the side as the man hurled another fist at his face. This time, however, he wasn't quite so lucky. The clenched hand made a hard and painful impact just below his right eye, causing him to curse and stumble backward, only to be grabbed by his hair and flung against the counter. Damn that bigger-than-him man.

By then, most of the people in the establishment had turned their heads in the direction of the fight, glad to witness something interesting. A few people even had the gall to cheer.

Mello was cursing at being only five feet and six inches tall and weighing 114 pounds. _Why_ was he so tiny. Why. The man he was currently avoiding being killed by, however, seemed at least twice his height and weight. Mello was clearly at a disadvantage, which was probably the reason that the crowd wasn't cheering for him. But they, of course, didn't know that Mello had, in his experience of joining the mafia, learned each and every point on the human body that, when put pressure upon, could kill a person or simply knock them out. (1)

Between dodging punches and attempting not to be crushed, the maneuver was rather hard to pull. Yet, somehow, the blonde managed to twist his frame in a way he had never thought possible and reach behind the man's bulky neck, firmly tapping a pressure point. The man froze and promptly collapsed, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Perhaps he had tapped a little _too_ firmly...

"Ew," Mello muttered and brushed himself off, shoving the man away from him and onto the ground. Around him, people ogled but quickly averted their eyes when they met Mello's glare. Sullenly, the blonde snuck a glance at the door, disappointment smacking him in the face when he noticed that the men in suits had returned, and were staring at him unabashedly. He flicked them off with a nasty sneer and made a beeline for the bathrooms, eager to get far away from the disconcerting feeling of being watched.

-:-

The bathrooms were nice. Mello had always liked nice bathrooms. The walls were bleach-white along with the tiles on the floor, the sinks and the toilets. The stalls were, like the paper towel and soap dispensers, black. Three sinks were lined up adjacent to the wall where the door stood, and above each was a circular mirror. Mello leaned over the sink and peered into it, recoiling as he saw an ugly bruise forming on his face.

"Way to go, Mello," he muttered sourly, touching his face and wincing. "Now you probably can't even come back without everyone staring at you. Way to go, you fucking idiot. Now Near is going to find out, that stupid little asshole, and he'll-"

"I don't mean to be rude or anything, but do you normally talk to yourself?"

Mello somehow managed to choke on air.

He whirled around, slightly pink in the face, to face whoever the hell had witnessed him going insane.

A smirking man stood in the corner, leaning against the white walls and smoking a cigarette.

_Wow,_ Mello thought. _I must have been hit pretty damn hard in the head not to notice that. Ew. Smoke._

The man was, to say in the least, a bit odd, because Mello could not see his eyes. Scratch that, he couldn't even see the top half of his face. A pair of orange-tinted goggles were strapped over his eyes, causing his red hair to fall in a disarray over the top.

"Take a picture; it'll last longer."

Mello jumped again, slightly startled by the man's voice cutting into his thoughts. Not having a comeback ready at the tip of his tongue, the blonde just sneered at him and turned back around to face the mirror. Damn, that bruise looked ugly.

"Are you going to answer me at all?" He asked. Mello detected a slight accent below the layer of Japanese the man was speaking.

Mello shot him a glare from the mirror. "No."

"Well, at least you said something. There's a start." The man blew a ring of smoke into the air of the small bathroom.

Wrinkling his nose, Mello turned back toward the man with an expression of distaste. "Go smoke somewhere else, asshole."

The man simply gave him an amused smile and tilted his head back, blowing another smoke ring at the ceiling.

Mello frowned. "Oi, are you even-"

"Why should I answer you when you don't want to answer me?" The man asked, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Because if you don't, I'll shoot you in the fucking face," Mello growled. He had almost forgotten about the revolver in his back pocket. "And my shit is my business."

"In that case, it's not your business to tell me to go smoke somewhere else, is it sweetheart?"

Mello fixed him with the most disgusted expression he could muster. "Don't _call_ me that, you creeper."

"Well you haven't given me a name, sweetheart."

"And why the hell should I do that?" Mello raised an eyebrow. "And stop calling me that before I hurt you."

The man gave a half amused grimace and backed away slightly, hands in the air as if declaring that he didn't mean it. Except Mello knew that he _did_ mean it, because the man chose that moment to comment on the disgusting bruise that disfigured his face, along with how his violent tendencies were kind of cute. Cute. At this point, it was already clear that Mello's patience was close to it's end, considering the bar fight that he knew he was going to get chewed out for, the bruise, and the lost opportunity to investigate. Having all added up, it was really no surprise when Mello just kicked the now rambling man in the groin, hard, causing him to fall to the ground in pain, and then stormed out of the bathroom, muttering about stupid, annoying, nosey redhead assholes.

-:-

The said annoying, nosey redhead asshole was talking on the phone. To be more accurate, he wasn't talking, he was whisper-shouting. Generally when one whisper-shouts, it means that they are in a position in which actually shouting would be a very bad idea.

He was currently whisper-shouting at one of his bosses while stalking a blonde man with hangover. At least, it looked like the man had a hangover from the way his brows were furrowed and how he seemed to want to have an aversion to light.

"Matt, are you still there?"

"What do you think?" He hissed back. "Kind of can't afford to chat right now!"

He could practically hear the eye-roll on the other line. "You were supposed to be reporting back by now."

"Yes, I know that, thanks." _That fucking woman,_ Matt growled in his head.

"Then what, pray tell, is the hold up?"

Matt groaned softly and ran a frustrated hand through his flaming hair. "I'm a bit busy with the job _your_ boss assigned me. Talk later, yeah?" And then he hung up. Not even two seconds later, his phone buzzed in his hand, the name 'Kiyomi Takada' appearing on the screen. He blocked her number and amused himself by imagining her outraged expression rather than thinking about the consequences of his small but bold action.

He peeked through the alleyway he was hiding in and cringed as he watched the man wipe his bleeding lip with a crisp, white sleeve. That would surely stain. The clothes were too small for him; the pants did not reach his ankles nor did the sleeves reach his wrists. Matt vaguely wondered where he had got them from. He shuffled through the messenger bag that was slung over his shoulder, giving a victory smile when he finally found what he was looking for- the files.

He had files on everyone he was supposed to follow, everyone he was supposed to kill. The part he prided himself on was that the files were not given to him by his boss. No, he had found every tiny bit of information on his own. It was only to be expected from someone that was as much of a genius as he was. His boss had always told him that he would have been so much better if he wasn't so damn lazy. But Matt enjoyed being lazy, so that was that.

The redhead flipped through the folder and pulled out a small stack of papers held together by a paperclip. These were the files on his target. They contained every detail about his life- his birthday, medical history, hair and eye color, height. Anything you named, it was in there. Even his real name, which no one was meant to know.

Because everyone left traces, that was what enabled Matt to find any information he could ever wish to look for. Well, almost any information. (There were some files that he couldn't get to no matter how hard he tried. He assumed that those were L's personal files.) The information most vital to his assignment sat, quite literally, in the palm of his hand. The man, ("Mello," Matt had noted after glancing at the paper), was in line to become the next L. Neither Matt nor his boss knew if L had chosen yet- but if everything went according to plan, it wouldn't remain a mystery for much longer. L was to die, and the easiest way to get to someone was through the people closest to him. That was Matt's job- to infiltrate. And it was what he was best at.

Mello, however hard he tried to escape, was screwed.

-:-

Mello slapped a bandage on his bruise and winced. Perhaps he should not have done that so forcefully.

"Ow," He whimpered and pressed a hand to his face. "Ow, ow, ow."

Really, the troubles a bruise could cause. Not only did it make his face look horribly mutilated, it also hurt. A lot. Every time he frowned, for fuck's sake. He _always_ frowned. Mello sniffed a little and grabbed the mostly-melted bag of ice sitting on the counter, pressing it to the bruise with a soft hiss. "Cold," He muttered. "Cold, cold, cold." But then it soothed the pain as it had been doing for the last eight hours. The last eight hours that he had not slept or done anything productive at all whatsoever.

Mello snuck yet another glance at his shirtless reflection, wincing at the bags under his eyes, his tangled hair, the bruises on his ribs. He really did look like shit. And he was skinnier than he last remembered. How long had it been since he had last eaten, again? He ran a finger along one of his protruding hipbones in distaste.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang. He looked at the time. It was nine in the morning. Who the hell called at nine in the morning? Near, that's who.

Grumbling resignedly, Mello held the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Mello."

"I said 'hello', not 'Mello'."

"_Mello_."

"Whatever would you be calling about at this time, I wonder," Mello said in a complete monotone.

Near sighed. "I have received some rather unsettling information about what Mello was doing last night."

"Have you, now?"

"I clearly remember instructing Mello not to interfere with the case any further. By going to Death Note last night, Mello has been going against what I told him to do."

"So that's what that place was called," Mello mused. "Thanks."

There was a silence on the other end and Mello wondered if he had finally annoyed Near to death. So he said, "You can't control me anymore, Near. You've already taken the position of L. You've kicked me off the case. You've destroyed everything that I've worked towards. There's nothing left to threaten me with." And he put the phone down.

Damn, that felt good.

Mello took another look in the mirror, cringed, and decided to eat something.

-:-

Near was just a little bit livid.

Frankly, he was sick and tired of Mello's shit. Even if he was the apathetic super-genius out of the Wammy's Orphanage group, it didn't mean he didn't have emotions. He just didn't let them get in the way of life like Mello did.

Speaking of the blonde, Mello, in Near's opinion, had to be the most irritating human being on the face of the planet. He had never encountered someone so completely capable of pissing him off. And then Mello claimed, in his high-and-mighty tone, that Near had been _controlling_ him and had been "destroying everything he had worked towards". As if Near would sink that low. Mello, perhaps, might have done that if given the opportunity. But not Near. Near was far more superior that that. He was better than to do something so petty.

At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

But Near disliked dwelling on thoughts so useless, so he went back to building his enormous card tower. He had built the entire city of New York so far, and was currently working on constructing the Empire State Building. He was almost finished, as well. Just three more cards, and he would have done something that no one else would have ever had the time or patience to do before.

One card...

Two cars...

Last card...

_THUD._

Near's eye twitched dangerously as New York City in all it's magnificent tarot card-glory crumbled to the ground around him.

He turned toward the door, careful to keep his emotions off his face. "_Can I help you_?"

To his surprise, the person that stood in the doorway was not someone that he normally worked with. To be precise, the person was a complete stranger. Near stared.

The stranger smiled. "You're Near, right?"

Near didn't answer, but instead continued to stare.

"Sorry about your tower," Said the stranger. "That must have taken a looong time."

"How did Stranger-san reach this level? No one is allowed here but me."

Stranger-san giggled. "Stranger-san? Oooh, that sounds so mysterious!"

Near stared at her again in silence, unwilling to repeat his question. Stranger-san picked up the hint.

"Well," She said and she pulled out a pistol from somewhere in the folds of her short skirt. "It took a bit of persuasion, you know?"

Near discreetly scooted backward. "There are security cameras all over this building, Stranger-san."

"Ugh, I knooow! It took Misa foreeever to get them to stop working!"

_Crap_, thought Near. He reached for the phone lying only a few feet away, but withdrew his hand with a yelp as a bullet whizzed by his arm. Near stayed frozen as the stranger (who called herself "Misa") approached him, her high heels clicking on the tile. Misa smashed the phone with her heel.

"Sorry, sorry," She said with a wink. "Misa-Misa had to let you know she was being serious." She spun lightly on the spot, her frilled skirt fanning out around her. "Don't you think I look so sexy with a gun~?" Another giggle.

Okay, Misa was a complete psycho.

She continued her maniacal giggling, prancing toward the long desk along the right wall of the room, but kept her gun pointed at Near's head, ensuring that he would not try to escape. She opened a few drawers, shuffling through papers and prodding at the multiple screens lined up on the desk. "Hmm... Where's the file?" She pouted and turned back to Near, beckoning him toward the desk. "Don't think you can try anything just because you're cute, 'kay?" Near sent her a look of utmost loathing. She just winked. Again.

Before Near could actually conjure up a brilliant master plan involving fake files and knocking out the annoying woman next to him, the gun was pressed to his temple. The metal that should have been cold was hot from just being fired. Near flinched backward.

"Misa _told_ you not to try anything, 'kay?" Near glared at her and she shoved the gun harder against his skull. "'_Kay_?" Near nodded, gritting his teeth.

"Good boy," She gushed. "Now make Misa-Misa happy and tell her where you keep the files~" Near shook his head. She kicked out at him, catching him in the stomach. Near fell backwards and clutched his abdomen in pain.

"Now, now, don't make Misa hurt you," She said. Near refused to speak, staring at the ground instead. "You won't help me? Okay, fine."

The last thing Near saw before he felt a blow to the base of his skull and everything went dark was Misa logging onto his computer.

_Goddamnit. _

-:-

Mello was sitting at a nice table in a nice café in a nice area.

God, he felt so out of place.

He could _feel_ the people staring at him in all his leather-clad, bruised glory as he sat there and sipped a chocolate milkshake. It was like a serial murderer sitting in a playground and reading _Atonement_. And crying. But Mello found it kind of amusing anyway. He nearly burst out laughing as a small child ran away upon seeing his ever-permanent glare.

... Sometimes he worried about his mental health.

**_It's about time, man._**

_Oh, not you again_, thought Mello exasperatedly.

**_Maybe you should eat something._**

_I am eating something._

_**No, you dumb fuck, you're drinking something like you always do. How about actual food?**_

Mello paused for a moment. _Are you my conscience?_

There was no answer to Mello's query, and the blonde had to, if reluctantly, conclude that he was insane. _Ah well_, Mello thought and took another slurp of milkshake. Fuck, what a wonderful milkshake.

Out of reflex, the blonde looked up when the café door opened. And then he choked on his milkshake.

In the doorway stood the same asshole from the previous night, and wow that sounded so wrong.

Mello tried to duck and be as unnoticeable as possible. Unfortunately for him, Lady Luck was a bitch, and the redhead saw him anyway. He, to Mello's surprise, didn't even spare him a second glance and instead strolled up to the counter, fiddling with his gay-looking orange goggles. The man wore a similar striped shirt to the one he had worn in the bathroom, except it wasn't purple this time, as well as a deerskin (Mello wasn't exactly sure as to the material) vest and boots. It was sufficient to say that the man's taste in clothing was rather odd, yet it suited him. Not that Mello cared, of course.

Happy that the redheaded man had simply walked past, Mello sat up in his chair once more, closed his eyes and went back to enjoying his drink. His bliss lasted approximately twenty seconds.

Let it now be said that the chair in front of him, when pulled out in a certain angle, made the most annoying screeching noise that Mello had ever had the displeasure of hearing.

His eyes snapped open in a ferocious glare, targeting whichever poor soul that had dared to disturb his short-lived peace. Of course it would be the redhead. Of course.

Mello sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You couldn't just leave me alone."

The man grinned cheekily. "Now where is the fun in that?"

Mello continued to glare and the man continued to grin.

"So, are you ever going to tell me your name?"

"No."

"Okay, then, you asked for it," said the man. "Sweetheart it is."

"Do you not remember what happened the last time you had the balls to call me that?"

"I nearly lost them?" The man smiled and Mello had to refrain from repeated face-palming.

"Yes, but you don't seem to care either way."

"Really, now? Oh, by the way, my name is Matt."

"I don't really care."

A waitress strolled up table and held out a coffee, which the redhead took and sent the her a smile and a 'thank you', causing her to blush. Mello rolled his eyes as she stammered a 'n-no problem!' and fled.

"Women," He muttered in disgust.

"What's wrong with women?" Matt raised his eyebrows. At least, Mello assumed he did, but couldn't actually tell with the goggles and the hair.

Mello threw his head back an groaned. "Fuck... don't even get me started. Every fucking girl I've ever known... All they do is ask for expensive shit-"

"Do you like men, then?"

"Wha- NO! What the fuck?" Mello exclaimed.

Matt snorted, looking amused. "You don't like women, so I kind of assumed-"

Mello pushed his chair back, duplicating the hair-raising noise from before and stood. "Okay, that's it, I'm leaving. I don't even know why I started talking to you in the first place." He stalked toward the door.

Matt, as expected, stood as well and followed him flailing his hands around. "No, no! Don't leave! C'mon, man, I was joking!" Mello ignored him and kept walking. "At least tell me your name!"

Mello paused to flick him off.

In the moment that he paused, he had stepped off the sidewalk and onto the road in such a way that caused his ankle to twist with a sickening crack. He stumbled in pain, straight into the path of a speeding vehicle and barely registered the shout of "Mello!" from somewhere on his left. He only just managed to wrench himself out from directly in front of the car, but was still caught in the ribs by the side-view mirror. He let out a yelp and was flung to the curb, with which his head made (extremely) painful contact.

"Oh my god!" Matt was leaning over him, looking absolutely horrified. "Oh my god, are you okay? Holy shit that fucking car, oh my god your _head,_ you're bleeding! Oh fuck, what do I do?"

Mello blinked at him.

"Say something, for fuck's sake!"

"Ow," Mello said and promptly passed out.

* * *

**(1)- That was an AWFULLY written sentence. Also, I don't actually know those pressure points. I just thought it sounded cool ;w;**

** A/N: **I WROTE SOMETHING. -dies- As you can see, it's longer this time. By like... 1500 words. So I've introduced Matt! Yay! I apologize if I characterize him wrong, but you do realize that you can't exactly characterize him right if he only has like... 3 talking scenes. Or 2. I don't really remember. Anywhoo, there's a bit of exposition with Near... and... tune in for the next chapter! :D

Yes. Matt is the bad guy.

Review?

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	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** I'M SORRY. I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY. Writer's block is a horrible, horrible thing. My first excuse was that I had exams, but those are long over. Long, long over. Dear lord I don't even know how long I spent writing this. It was like two sentences at a time and then I would stop. But today I sort of went "ENOUGH OF THIS HIATUS!" and sat down and wrote another two thousand words. So um... I replaced that author's note thing I left after chapter two with this. I hope that it's long enough and has enough going on and that you're all satisfied.

On another note, I've been doing some story planning for each chapter. I think I've finally established a solid plot. Or not. I don't know.

**Warnings:** Yaoi. Boy/boy.

**Summary: **After Near is chosen to succeed L, Mello's life is in shambles. However, a meeting with a mysterious redhead changes everything. MxM, AU.

* * *

_"Oh my god!" Matt was leaning over him, looking absolutely horrified. "Oh my god, are you okay? Holy shit that fucking car, oh my god your head, you're bleeding! Oh fuck, what do I do?"_

_Mello blinked at him._

_"Say something, for fuck's sake!"_

_"Ow," Mello said and promptly passed out._

_Chapter 2—_

When Mello opened his eyes, he only knew that his head hurt like a bitch and that he had no idea where he was.

His attempt at sitting up went badly, as the moment he propped himself up using his elbows, a pain from hell shot through his ribs and skull. Cursing the infernal bastard who invented hurt, he flopped back onto the pillows in defeat.

He blinked. Pillows? Pillows. No blanket. _Grope, grope_. Not a bed, perhaps a sofa. He looked around. Yes, definitely a sofa. A green sofa. His eyes traveled up. A tall ceiling—the room was enormous. Left, right, and below—walls of a lighter green than the sofa, a hardwood floor, a coffee table on top of a carpet rug, also green (the carpet, not the table), a partially closed door that led into a hallway.

Mello, quite intelligently, concluded that he was indoors.

Indoors, but where indoors? His eyes flitted around the room once more. He still had no clue as to where he was. Mello vainly struggled to recall what had happened, or whom he had been with, dishearteningly coming up with nothing. He (painfully) lifted his arm and patted his pocket, making sure he still had his gun.

Nothing.

He patted his pocket again, this time more urgently.

Still nothing.

His heart jumped to his throat and he shot up in a panic, only to cry out in pain as his back gave out and he hit the pillows once more.

Mello clenched his teeth, pressing his hands to his ribcage in agony. What the fuck had happened?

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" The door was forcefully flung open all the way, and a man with flaming red hair and goggles burst in, cursing loudly.

Mello's eyes shot upward and fixed themselves on the man's face. Without a pause, everything came hurtling back to him in a whirling rush, making him clutch his head at the sheer intensity of it. He remembered, he remembered—a car had shot at him from out of nowhere, catching him in the ribs before he could completely dodge out of the way. While he was unconscious (Mello assumed that he had hit his head), he had been taken home by the stupid dumbass that refused to leave him alone. Just_ fucking_ brilliant.

"Oi," Matt said, his voice breaking through Mello's thoughts, "I asked you a question."

"Where is my gun?" Mello rasped, the panic returning as the redhead reminded him of the loss of his security blanket.

"It's on the table next to your head. Maybe if you had actually looked, you would have noticed."

Mello frowned at his tone, slightly wounded. "And what the fuck is up _your _ass?"

Matt let his hand slide down his face in what Mello assumed was exasperation. "You were just hit by a car! Don't you have enough sense as to not sit up that fast?"

"Speaking of being hit by a car, why aren't I in a hospital?" An eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"Oh..." Matt's expression shifted quickly from angry to nervous. "Look, I panicked, okay?"

Mello glared. Matt had the decency to stare at his toes. "Did you get the license plate number?"

Matt shook his head dumbly.

There was a pause.

"Who the hell," Mello screeched, "Not only doesn't have the sense to take me to the hospital after I get hit by a freaking car, _but also can't even get a license plate number to report the bastard!_"

Matt cringed. "I told you—I panicked!"

"That is _not_ an excuse, you fucking _stupid_—" Mello cut his rant short with a deep breath. Do not be angry, he told himself. Do not yell at this poor, mentally handicapped, protozoan-brained man. He changed the topic before his mouth could spew out anything else unpleasant.

"Hey, what did people say when they saw you dragging off my bloody carcass?"

The redhead raised an eyebrow at the blonde's rapid change in demeanor, but chose not to comment. "That's not the word choice I would pick, but hey, it works... I guess." Matt glimpsed Mello's darkening expression and hastily continued. "I told them that you hadn't eaten anything all day—which, judging by how skinny you are, is probably true—and that you passed out and I was going to carry you home."

"First of all, I am not fucking skinny. And they believed you? How would they have known that you're not some kind of... I dunno, deranged psychopathic serial killer?" Mello chose not to inform him that this could in fact be true.

"Thank you for your high opinion of me," Matt rolled his eyes. "In case you haven't realized by now, they didn't see you get hit by the car." He paused, looking apprehensive, "And... I told them you were my boyfriend."

Another pause.

"You said _what_?"

"Look, it was the only way I could get them to stop asking questions, don't take it personally—"

"You don't even _know_ me!"

"Oh, come on, yes I do—"

"You don't even know my _name—_"

"_Then maybe you should tell me!_"

Mello flinched, not expecting the sudden attack on his unreasonable secrecy, but quickly composed himself and glared up at the man leaning over him. "I'm not obliged to give away anything to someone that I've just met. Don't assume that you're my friend just because you fucking _smile_ at me."

Matt looked at him for a long moment and gave up, letting out a sigh and sitting down on the coffee table. "You're really messed up, did you know that?"

"How so?" Mello decided not to voice that yes, he did in fact know that he was _very_ messed up. He wondered if he ought to get some help about that.

"It's like you don't want anyone to get close to you." Matt paused, analyzing the blonde's disarmed expression. "And judging from the look on your face, I hit the problem dead-on, didn't I?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," sneered Mello, easily rearranging his features into one of contempt.

"Really, now?" Matt snorted. "Of course, you refusing to tell me your name _clearly_ couldn't be an indicator. I must be imagining things."

"Yes, you must be," said Mello and stubbornly glared at the wall.

"..." Matt remained silent in response, and after another six full minutes, he seemed to realize that discussing Mello's mental health was a lost cause. Feeling immensely sorry for any therapist Mello was to encounter in the future, he rose abruptly, causing the blonde to look up.

"Well, seeing as you're too pigheaded to admit you've got a problem, I'm going to go make a phone call."

"You do that," said Mello nastily.

The door slammed shut leaving both men to fume in silence.

-:-

Near was furious.

He had never in his entire life _ever _been this humiliated. Ever.

He wasn't just being childish because he lost either—Near was fairly sure that anyone would feel indignant if put in his position.

Bound and gagged. He had been left on the floor, bound and gagged. If it was within the law, he would have killed someone. Chewing threw the gag had proven to be futile, seeing that it was made of cloth. The only thing he had accomplished in that aspect was an uncomfortably painful feeling in his tongue where he had accidentally bit down on it. As for the ropes binding his wrists and ankles, he had made slight progress. Worming in an unsightly manner across the floor, he had managed to drag himself to where he was sure Lidner had dropped her nail file a few days prior. After what felt like a good half-an-hour of groping around behind his back, Near had managed to locate the sharp piece of metal, grateful that he had not bothered to return it.

Unfortunately, Near was a bit inexperienced at cutting through ropes, not having really paid attention to the movies the other children had watched in the orphanage in which a captured character used a nail file to escape. He cursed under his breath as the file slipped in his slightly sweaty palm, cutting his finger. Twisting his head around, he saw that it was bleeding.

Near mentally sighed, wiping his finger on the back of his shirt, and relocated the nail file, preparing himself for another round of trying to saw through the rope.

As he worked, he could faintly hear shouting coming from downstairs, muffled by the closed and locked door. They seemed not to have noticed that Near had just been attacked and shot at. Of course, they must have known about the intruder in the building, since the alarms had gone off, (Near didn't think that the alarms were very useful, as they had only begun to go off after Misa had fled), but didn't bother to think about if she had reached Near. He had half a mind to fire everyone.

Suddenly, voices appeared at what sounded like the end of the hallway, where the stairs were. Near desperately wanted to shout for help, but was prevented from doing so by the piece of black cloth in his mouth. He struggled silently as footsteps echoed down the hall, nearing his door.

He repeatedly hit the floor as noisily as he could manage with his hands, praying that they could hear him. (Near couldn't believe that he was actually _begging_)—

_Please, please, please, please—_

It was as if the sun had shone down on him in the middle of a storm—the footsteps that had almost passed the door slowed.

Near gave a muffled shout and hit the floor harder.

The doorknob gave a rattle but didn't open.

"It's locked," Near heard from outside the door. He recognized the voice to be of Rester.

"Do you have a key?" said the voice of Lidner.

"Yes, I think so, hang on..."

And within a moment, the unlocked door swung open, revealing the rather harassed looking faces of his subordinates.

"Near, what...?" Rester hastened forward, stepping over the piles of fallen tarot cards and the remains of Near's cellphone. The albino boy just fixed him with the meanest look he could muster, daring him to ask any more questions. The man furrowed his brow but didn't speak again, and instead set to cutting through the ropes. Unlike Near, he managed the get them loose in mere seconds.

"Near, what the hell happened—"

"Mmf."

"Oh right—" Rester pulled out the gag and Near immediately licked his cracked lips, drawing in a great gulp of air. Then, instead of replying to the confused man, he pushed himself up and walked to the computers, moving faster than he had in a very long time.

Lidner was seated at the desk, typing rapidly.

"The security has been breached," she said before Near could open his mouth. "Everything has been deleted."

"..." Near sunk into the chair next to her, drawing one knee to his chest. "Chance of recovery?"

"Zero percent."

Near's heart plummeted, but he took care not to show it, instead reaching up and agitatedly twirling a lock of hair. This network was the only one that contained the files on the Kira case. (Now that Near looked back on it, it was an extremely stupid decision—security reasons, he had assured himself as he had transferred all the files onto the single computer, in case the files needed to be destroyed—Now look where it had landed him.) Everything had been wiped, and there was no way to get it back.

"Well?" Came Rester's voice from behind them. "Are you going to explain any of this?"

Near shook his head. "I am afraid that there is nothing to explain. The intruder rendered me incapable of movement and hacked into the computer, most likely stole the files and deleted everything." And there went his pride.

Lidner frowned. "And you're sure that Mello wouldn't have anything?"

"I have locked Mello out of the files, he should not have been able to access them." But even as he said it, a part of Near was thinking hard—maybe, _hopefully_, Mello had gotten in somehow, maybe he had managed to get a copy... But would he oblige when asked for it? After all that Near had put him through, it seemed unlikely.

The albino vaguely registered that someone else was talking. He cut across them.

"I think," Near said slowly, "We will have to speak to Mello."

"But you just said—"

"It is the only chance we have," Near said, the truth of the words weighing on his shoulders. "I propose we take it."

"R-Right."

Near turned back to the screens, his mind racing a million miles a minute.

Things were going to get complicated.

-:-

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" Matt hissed into his cellphone.

"What a polite way to greet someone," answered a cool, male voice on the other line.

"Don't act like you care about pleasantries!"

"On the contrary. They are essential to function in everyday society, are they not?"

Matt swore and sat down heavily on his kitchen table. "Stop avoiding the question."

"I'm not avoiding anything, as far as I can tell. I'm merely commenting on your less than kind greeting—"

"_Mikami_."

The man scoffed. "What, do you wish for me to _explain _myself to you?"

"Well, obviously!"

"And you expect me to obey you? _You_, who can't even get a single job done properly?"

Matt's lips drew back in a snarl. "Stop acting all high and mighty. You and I both know that it isn't my job to kill him."

"Oh?" Mikami sneered. "Then what _is_ your job, pray tell?"

"_You know what my job is_."

"To infiltrate, yes, so I've been told. But you weren't doing a very good job, were you? I was simply helping-"

"Hitting him with a car is not helping!" Matt's face met with his palm in a gesture of absolute irritation. "What in the world made you think that was _helping_?"

"I secured you an excuse to take him home," Mikami said lightly, the tone of his voice giving no indication that he believed hitting someone with a car was in any way unacceptable.

"He has two cracked ribs and he very nearly broke his skull," Matt ground out through clenched teeth. "You could have _killed him_."

"But I didn't, did I? Not to mention it would only make your job easier if I did."

Matt, at this point, was fighting the rapidly rising urge to scream very loudly. "In case you don't remember, I'm not supposed to _kill_ him! I'm supposed to _use_ him to kill _L_! How the fuck do you expect me to gather information from a dead body?"

Mikami snorted derisively. "Is that compassion you're showing? And I thought you were supposed to be an assassin."

"_Yes_," Matt stressed, on the verge of tearing out copious amounts of his own hair, "I _am_ an assassin, but I was only assigned to kill _one_ specific person, who, may I mention, is exceedingly difficult to get to! It makes sense not to kill off my easy way in!"

"Really now. And I suppose you being a bit... _taken_ by your new find has nothing to do with it?" drawled Mikami, an infuriating smugness slipping into his silky voice.

Matt opened his mouth to fire off an angry retort, but stopped himself, seizing another and surely more effective tactic. "You seem rather uninformed for someone who claims to be so high in the ranks."

A short silence was all the redhead needed to know that he had gained the upper hand.

"...What do you mean?"

"I mean," Matt smirked, "That for someone who says that he's so close to the boss, you really don't seem to know what you're talking about."

Mikami bristled. "I know exactly what I'm talking about, thank you. You are simply finding an escape from admitting that you've got a little crush on your target—"

"First of all," Matt cut him off, "My target is _L_ as I've explained to you several times now." Mikami growled and Matt silently cheered. "And has your beloved boss ever once told you anything of the plan?"

"Wha—Of course he has!" blustered Mikami. "I am his—his most trusted—"

"Well clearly he hasn't been telling you anything if you continue to make such ludicrous accusations."

"Accusations?" Mikami hissed. "I'm speaking the truth!"

Matt let out a cruel laugh. "Truth, you say? Let me remind you of the plan then: To get close to L through his successor, and then to kill him."

"Yes, I know—"

"Then how do you propose I get close to his successor, hmm?"

"..." Mikami didn't respond.

And Matt's victory had been secured. He smirked in triumph, sliding off his kitchen table and pacing to the window.

"Mikami?"

"..."

"Nothing to say?" Matt sneered. "You had plenty to say before didn't you?"

"...Don't you fucking_ mock me_." Teru Mikami's voice filtered through the line hard and fast, spoken in a deadly whisper_. _"You may claim it is all part of the plan, but you've been known to get attached to your victims, to show unnecessary kindness." He let out a bark of laughter, sounding quite demented. "I'll be watching you and waiting for the moment you fuck up and _I will find you_. Do _not_ think you will be able to escape. And remember, the boss won't let you off so easily this time."

A resounding click was followed by a dial tone.

Matt snorted to disguise his rising unease. Well fuck, Teru Mikami was a psycho after all. Matt had always had a nagging suspicion that he had always been a bit insane—one would have to be to follow after the boss that loyally. Yet, for some reason, (most likely to maintain his own sanity), the redhead had managed to convince himself that no, Mikami was not _psycho_, he was simply... strange. And perhaps a little disturbed. And now, after the tiny bout of maniacal laughter plus the barely veiled threat, Matt was forced to conclude that Mikami had probably been one of those kids that killed small animals for fun, and was now turning his attentions to Matt.

He silently wished that he hadn't been such an asshole. Now dwelling on it, Matt realized that half the shitty situations he had gotten into were the results of his assholey-ness. Perhaps he ought to work on that.

Actually, fuck that, he was hungry.

He placed the phone on the table and grabbed an apple.

-:-

Mello wasn't really sure why he was so upset.

Really now, he had always been the toughest no matter where he went, be it Wammy's house or even the mafia. Yet this insignificant little jibe at his mental health had him reeling. He couldn't understand it for the life of him.

In fact, the more he though about it, the more that nasty little comment Matt dropped seemed to be _true_, and Mello knew it couldn't be. He was perfectly sane, voices in his head and intimacy issues aside. Perfectly. Fucking. Sane.

"Ugh," he said to himself. "Screw it." With great care, he pushed himself up with one arm, wary of moving too quickly lest he aggravate his wounds. With the other, he grasped the top of the couch, hauling himself up into a sitting position. He eyed his gun sitting on the nearby table and snatched it, inserting into his back pocket before standing up slowly.

_Nothing hurts…yet,_ he reasoned, and headed toward the exit. He reached toward the doorknob, turning it—

—only to find Matt standing right outside, his hand extended.

"Um…" he began, raising an eyebrow. "May I be so bold to ask as to where you think you're going?"

"Home," Mello bit out angrily. "Where else?" He shoved past the redhead into the hallway.

Matt exhaled. "At least let me drive you back."

"I'm fine, I can walk," Mello hissed, only to wince in obvious pain when Matt poked his side.

"I can see that," said Matt skeptically.

"You know what—ow! Will you stop _poking_ me?"

"Why don't you just let me drive you?" sighed Matt wearily. "Consider it an apology for being an ass earlier."

Mello gave him the eye as he turned this offer over in his head. True, he was sore _everywhere_ and it would be hell to walk home, not to mention he was tired and hungry. But then again, this was the annoying shit who couldn't shut his mouth. Being talked to death or dying of starvation and fatigue: which was the lesser evil?

"I'll walk," he decided haughtily, pushing Matt out of the way and stalking toward the door.

"Seriously?" Matt exclaimed, exasperated. "I said I was sorry!"

"That means nothing."

"Look," he said, once again blocking the blonde's path, "I really feel bad. How about treat you to some food on the way?"

"I'm not hu—" the blonde began, only to cut off as his stomach let out a loud gurgle. "…Okay."

"Thanks," Matt said, and smiled.

"Whatever."

"Will you tell me your name now?"

"Don't push it."

"Okay, okay! Don't hit me!"

-:-

Mello wasn't quite sure what to think when they parked in front of his apartment building and all his furniture lay in a heap outside the entrance.

Before Matt could say or do anything, Mello had thrown open the car door and was clambering up the stairs to his apartment. On his door stuck a piece of paper that proudly declared:

_Eviction Notice._

Mello's mouth fell open.

"Hey, are you okay—wait, what's that?"

Mello ignored him and threw open the door, tearing off the notice and stomping inside.

It was completely empty.

Hands shaking, he dashed to his bedroom—_empty_—the kitchen—_empty_—everything was empty. Gone. Every piece of furniture, his computer, his clothes, his phone, his chocolate, his files, his everything. All gone.

He crumpled up the paper and chucked it at the wall before sitting down heavily on the floor.

"Um…" the redhead said from behind him. "A-Are you okay?"

Mello let out a little whimper and put his face in his hands. _Fuck my life. Fuck my life. Fuck my life._

"Excuse me, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

Mello turned his head sharply, flinching as the movement sparked pain in the back of his head. The ache, however, was forgotten as he realized that the man standing in the doorway was his landlord. "You!" He was on his feet and stalking toward the landlord within a matter of seconds. "You damn _bastard_—"

The landlord let out a terrified squeak and made a mad dash for the door.

"Oh no you don't!" Mello snarled, grabbing the back of the man's jacket before he could escape. "What is the meaning of _this?_" He gestured at the vacant rooms.

The landlord, apparently summoning courage from the depths of his soul, drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. "It means, sir, that you have been evicted! You've broken one too many rules!"

"What rules have I broken _exactly_—"

"Not to mention, you haven't been paying the rent! Why should I let _you_ stay here when there are others in line for this place? In fact, just the other day a respectable young man telephoned me asking for your apartment, what was his name? Ma—"

Mello cut across him. "Don't you give me that crap, you little—" The blonde's response was cut short by a hand on his shoulder. He turned on the redhead, teeth bared. "What do you think you're doing?"

Matt ignored him. "I'm so sorry, don't mind him. He's just a little upset—"

"What—Of _course_ I'm upset—!"

"—and I'm sure he doesn't mean any of it—"

"—what shit are you spouting, I meant _all_ of it—"

"—so sorry for the inconvenience, we'll be leaving now—"

"—no, we most certainly will _not!_"

But Matt had already begun to steer the struggling blonde out the door, all while apologizing profusely to the landlord, who looked vaguely relieved at the idea of Mello leaving.

-:-

The moment they were outside, Mello punched Matt in the face.

"I guess I deserved that," he groaned, rubbing his jaw.

"Yes, yes you did!" Mello was, quite justly, furious. "Why the hell did you do that?"

Well," Matt reasoned, "I was just using my common sense. You knew he wouldn't have given you your apartment back."

"You could at least have let me hit him for dumping my stuff!"

"And give him a reason to call the police?"

"Ugh," Mello threw up his hands in exasperation. "I hate you."

"Do you really?"

"That's it, I'm done." He stomped heatedly away toward the pile of furniture and appliances, bending down and picking up a scuffed laptop. "Bastard," he muttered, running his fingers over the scratches.

Matt watched him silently, hands in the pockets of his jacket and his breath forming little clouds in the chill air as Mello gathered as many things as he could into his arms, occasionally dropping something and cursing.

"Need any help with that?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.

"No!" Mello snapped angrily, swearing as he dropped a coffee maker.

"Oh _honestly_," Matt sighed, stooping to pick up the appliance. "You're so stubborn_._" _The files didn't say he was this difficult._ "Will you stop being an idiot and just let me help you?"

"I don't want help from a stranger!" He snatched the coffee maker, only to drop a lamp. "Shit!"

Matt rolled his eyes. "Okay, I have a proposition for you." Mello eyed him warily. "How about we stop being strangers? How about we be friends?"

Mello snorted. "Give me one reason why I would want to do that."

"Well for starters…" Matt paused for effect.

Mello glared at him. "Get on with it."

"…If we were friends, I'd let you live with me."

Mello's eyes bugged. "What?"

"You heard me," Matt said with a smirk. "You need a place to go, right?"

"B-But… We barely know each other. Why would you be willing to let me _live_ with you?" Mello's brow creased in bemusement.

Matt smiled. "Not everyone has intimacy issues like you, sweetheart."

"I don't have—don't call me that." Mello dragged a hand down his face.

"Okay then. Let's start off our wonderful friendship with telling each other our names. My name is Matt."

"This is stupid."

"And what's _your_ name?" He shot the blonde a pointed look.

"I'm not playing this game."

"_And what's your name, dear friend with whom I will be sharing my house?_"

A sigh. "My name is Mello."

A brilliant smile. "Mello, huh? It doesn't suit you very well, does it?"

"Nah," Mello said quietly. "It doesn't. Now shut up and help my load my shit into your car."

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

"Don't _call_ me that!"

* * *

**A/N: **OH DEAR LORD. GUHHH. That is all I can say. So did anyone guess who called the landlord to take Mello's apartment, and for what reason? Either way, I'll have it explained in the next chapter. Hopefully.

Mikami is butthurt. ALL THE TIME FOREVER. Poor little guy.

Review?

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